|Hail Stones. Seriously?|
In meteorological annals can be found,
One of abject annoyance and mismirth.
Not hours since convincing
The honeybees propensing
Giant hail-stones assailed the earth.
Choice words were muttered, four letters in length,
As the Hound stood cursing from the kitchen sink,
Hissing like a snake on the tile.
Colorful new illegible combinations
Verbal barometric assassinations
Came bubbling up through pessimistic bile.
“Five years I've been waiting!” she finally croaked out.
“What the hashtag-asterick is this weather about?”
But her spouse and children were staring in awe.
Not at her, mind their manners,
But chunks of ice that were slammers
On the cars like huge icy paws.
The Honeyhound, she was wrong to despair,
For just a few blocks over there
Happy and Mister were preparing for battle.
Bike helmets and trash can lids
To defend from the sky their animal-kids
With the resolve of lovers unrattled.
Over the garden boxes they stooped
And ushered the hens into the coop.
They didn't need much persuasion.
The bees were entrusted, we confess,
To Grandpa Joe's woodworking best!
Gratitude for dove-tailed dedication.
When finally the barrage was ended,
The roof and the cars plenty dented,
Happy radioed in from the field.
"The hens are all sulking, the basil is grouchy
Lavender's bruised, the tomatoes are slouchy,
Those onions are already peeled.”
“Apis Mellifera?” the Honeyhound howled.
“What of them?”she impatiently growled.
And Happy made an off hand report,
“Oh, they made it, they're fine,
They all flew in on time,
By apparent, unseen consort.”
Four birds, countless blossoms and countless-ier bees,
All safe and un-sundered by nature's great sneeze
By the brainy, helmeted heads of our friends.
A note-worthy notion, in closed-form asserted
Community makes a crisis averted.
(Though just in time for others to begin...)